The Aristocrat's Guide to Living and Winning
by draqueshna
Summary: Harry wasn't caught by the Ministry on that fateful, aunt exploding night at the beginning of his third year. But he' getting sent to Azkaban anyway. First FF


Prologue: Insomnia 

**It** was past three in the morning when Phineas Nigellus felt even the slightest intention of falling asleep. For many a year, this had been the habit of his ways.

On one hand, he was rather pleased with his newfound appreciation of the night.

His dearest Ursula managed to always throw off the covers around this time and start to snore soon after that, so it was no compromise to simply skip sleep for study when Phineas would've been woken by his rumbling wife anyway.

On the other hand, Phineas couldn't shake the feeling that sleep was a prudency, wife or nay, and shouldn't be ignored, no matter what your age or blood purity. This particular night was one of which would've brought much fortune to his family had he chosen to act on his conscience and roughed out his wife's snuffling until daybreak.

But, ignorant to his instincts, Phineas dibbled his phoenix feather quill around the ink again, swirling and tilting it whilst he gathered his thoughts.

Scrawling in loopy, elegant script, he began the next page of parchment. He drew a large and complicated family tree with names branching from a singular stem at the base of the page.

The stained glass windows in the corner rattled vexingly from the gust that tackled the woods outside his office. _Must get the elf onto that… _Phineas thought, re-dipping his quill again and shaking his head at the noise.

As the hours past, Phineas found himself tottering over words, his eyes were blurring rapidly and an unpleasant stinging sensation came about whenever he looked away from the scripted parchment. It was for this reason that he was sure he was hallucinating when Phineas reached for the window that had come unstuck in the gale and saw a rather odd view from the height he was in the Black Family Castle.

Lord Black grumbled, primarily out of habit, as he pulled on his cloak and took to the grand stairwells of the castle not trusting that he could successfully apparate in his extreme fatigue. Tripping over the Persian hall runner, he moved along the Entrance Hall and towards the first floor balcony that had been thoroughly soaked through the night.

Phineas hitched up his cloak, revealing a pair of wool lined leather night shoes that sloshed along the path to the area shadowed by his study window.

Peering through the sheets of rain, he slowed as the figure approaching hobbled forth. The creature was obviously weighed down considerably by the shadowy carcass that dangled from its hold. Combining his vintage with his tired eyes and mind, Phineas indeed had a troublesome time deciphering wether the trespasser was a threat or something of another nature. He had to admit that, although he loved an opportunity to brag his family wealth, Phineas was in no shape for welcoming pleasantries at this ungodly hour. He stood his ground (under a sturdy weather-reflecting charm), testing the creature's dedication by simply observing instead of lending a helping spell.

A rattling breath knifed through the gust and the rain. The figure hauled his load a few more steps before grunting and collapsing on the ground before the lord's dry feet.

Phineas shuffled a step ahead, nudging the man's person with his shoe. The collapsed traveller wheezed and began to drag himself to his knees.

"Phineas," Breathed the mud stained fellow in a heavy Scottish accent, "Have mercy, brethren."

"_Lumos." _

The chap coughed again, his drenched blond curls streaking his face with rivers of their dirty wash. An oozing gash swelled upon his cheek. The laceration ran down to his neck and across his collar bone. His coat had been severed and stained cherry red in blotches across his chest.

After a moment of concussion, Phineas cackled at the sight of the mess by his feet before he spat in the man's face- his _brother-in-laws_ face, to be precise.

"What courage you must have to enter the realm of Black, Hitchens." His words cut through the wind, "Stupidity and courage. It's with good fortune you never dragged your sorry _asium_ into Hogwarts- the less Gryffindors that pollute that sty, the better."

Hitchens spluttered again, coughing crimson spots onto the lawns of Black. Phineas kicked out, pushing his brother-in-law off the creature that Hitchens had been baring. A frail body lay twisted on the ground, with just a cracked leather loin falling over its protruding hips. Involuntarily, Phineas shivered at the sight before his whip crack pride overtook his pity.

"What is this filth you spite upon me, boy? Another of your offspring?"

Hitchens drew himself up from the land and stared Phineas in the eye, the blood and dirt running down his face made him look like his great ancestor, W. Wallace. With just one intimidating glare, the Scott proved to Lord Black that, although he blanketed the fact in his totally impulsively impure behaviours of pig headed nobility, the husband of Ilsa Black was indeed aristocratic. Hitchens stood regardless of his injuries, staring down the shorter and older male.

"If her were a child of mine, I would not dare bring him to you. You have, and never will be an Uncle of my children."

Phineas slapped Hitchens with haughtily. This fool was not worth the infamous wand work of Phineas Niegllus Black. No… physical humiliation seemed quite the consequence for this idiot.

Hitchens clenched his eyes as a new wave of pain and blood rushed through his wound. A deep breath was in order to calm himself. Then he opened his eyes.

Phineas had turned his back and started tramping towards the house. He wasn't a large man, but the ridiculous hat perched sideways on his head made up for lost height. Hitchens shook his head slowly and called across to Phineas, the rain spraying in his face and wind tugging at his bloody robes.

"I don't believe that people are aware of when history is being made, Nigellus." Hitchens began, calling through the rain, "But when I found this young man in my travels I was instantly taken by his magical aura. A starving boy in Morocco, being beaten and held in torture by natives."

Phineas rolled his head, cracks sounding through the night. He turned towards the man struggling against the gale. A pale hand protruded from the velvet robes he wore. A thin wand pointed directly at the Scottish male.

"I would not kill you, Hitchens, as much as I would like too. It would be an act of malice towards my sister; though I resent the paths that she chose. But I have no hesitations in banishing you from my property, with your little rescue pet here." He flicked his wand towards the limp body on the ground.

Hitchens withdraw his own wand. He was drained, and his magic was near depleted. But it was an act of defiance more than an actual act of self-defence.

"I came to you tonight, Phineas, as I was aware of your unhealthy obsession with purity of blood and its strengths in magic and all things fantastic. I came to you, thinking you would welcome your ancestor's son - your better - but once more, you display ignorance higher than the castles you reside in."

Phineas shouted in Latin, swearing at Hitchens for his words of audacity, but the Scottish soldier continued. "Who'd have known that the last living descendant of the Most Nobel and Ancient House of Blackwell" Phineas halted in his curses and paled drastically, "would be living in the slums of Morocco in torture and detention."

Phineas cursed again. "Lies! All of them! The last of the line of Blackwell died over four hundred years ago, you idiot! Unless they pranced off to _America _for their annual holiday, choosing to extend their stay for a couple of centuries?"

Bob Hitchens guffawed with no humour in his tone. "Yes! Why would any decent wizard choose to live anywhere but England? Great Britain: the start and the end of the world!"

Phineas fired a cutting curse at the Scottish man. Hitchens tumbled to the ground, the spell flashing above his head and hitting a tree a few metres behind him.

"You drunken Scott!" Phineas spat. Sprays of saliva caught in the downpour as he approached his brother in-law. "All you know of is your ancestor's battle hungry mentality. You're heritage lived like cavemen whilst the Black family flourished in awe of all the Noble mag-"

"_You were disowned!" _Hitchens bellowed; his anger overtook exhaustion, adrenaline flowed through his veins like steaming lava as though a volcano had erupted in his heart.

Within the second, a seething pain shot through Hitchens left side and his vision turned opaque. Phineas shouted in disgust. A gust pushed their bodies sideways. Hitchens seethed on the ground as the curse worked its path and began to leave his body. Winded, the soldier turned to his side.

Phineas stalked forward and picked up his wand.

"In the name of Black." With a short thrush, Lord Black snapped the oaken wand of the Scottish man seething on the ground.

Phineas dropped the wand onto the victim. Hitchens was slowly breathing, but began to speak surely.

"From this day forth, the Heir of Blackwell will be an affiliation of Hitchens blood." The boy on the ground began to shiver as he arose from the depths of concussion. His liberator redeemed himself and kneeled before Phineas. The Lord glared down on his brother in law.

"The last living descendent of Sir Camulus and Trinity Blackwell; the first and last royals belonging to the British ministry, will be raised in hope to one day dispel Britain of its monstrosities… In the name of Ancient Blood and Ancient Honour."

Hitchens leaned forward and grasped the emaciated figure on the lawns. Staring Phineas deep into his eyes, he nodded once. With a shuddering breath he closed his eyes and withdrew his last provisions of magic. A blinding flash conquered the lawns, bursting through the woods and lighting the castle walls. Phineas cried out and stumbled back, cowering behind a raised arm.

When the backlash resided, Lord Black was fulminating. Ignoring the parched earth where the trespassers had lay moments ago, he stormed towards the castle, ripping doors off their hinges and leaving strewn antiques in his wake.

Phineas rampaged into his study and tore down the draperies, bellowed in rage. His face contorted with rampant fury as he withdrew his wand once more. He glowered at the wall painting dedicated to the Black pedigree.

Of course, Hitchens had been correct, though Phineas was the only Blackwell to know so. 'Nakshatra Black' was labeled in the top corner of the room spanning artwork with branches and boughs peeling out from her portrait. 'Phineas Black' was inscribed a fair amount of generations later from his disowned ancestor, who had originally worm the noble name of Blackwell.

Phineas stared across to his sister's name, where her branches entwined with 'Bob Hitchens'. A vein swelled dangerously under the lord's hat as he extended his wand.

Ursula Black was torn away abruptly from the comforts of her unconscious. It took not a second before she felt the floor of the bedroom shudder and heard a blood curdling screech from several floors below.

Her body twisted through space and reemerged at the base of the castle, outside where the blackwood doors used to stand to lead into the library. Only a pile of butchered wood lay beneath her socks now. Splinters prodded at her toes as she stepped over the threshold deeper into the disaster zone.

Her husband, dearest Phineas, was buckled on the floor, surrounded by scattered books and artifacts. The desk in the corner had been overturned with the contents of its draws thrown into the chaos.

"Darling!" Ursula wept, and tottered to her spouse. Phineas kneeled with a helping hand from his wife, dragging long breaths. Through the eastern window, the sun was just birthing the horizon, splaying the patchwork fields with brilliant orange through the pitter patter of rain.

"What have you done, you old fool?" Ursula lulled once she was assured her husband was only in shock and not injured. "What happened?"

Phineas Nigellus Black turned to the painting that wrapped the span of the room. Ursula howled as she saw the wreck.

The western wall glowed as the dawn sunlight splashed across its surface. Weak beams highlighted the charcoaled scars that cut out from the Black family line across from Phineas' siblings. A tortured twist of smoke engulfed the areas where the Hitchens line was portrayed, as a new branch was born from the gloom.

A radiant emerald branch licked across the portrait in front of the Black's eyes, with a new face being depicted, glowing amongst the faded oil paint.

A golden script twirled as an invisible hand wrote underneath the newest addition to the portrait, with words continuing to curl below the young and handsome face:

_Maximilian Wallace,_

_the imminent legatee to the Most Nobel and Ancient House_

_of Blackwell_

A/N: I feel like I've just started a pilgrimage... There is a long road ahead readers :)


End file.
